While she stood there, the juke playing something about whiskey for men and beer for horses, her gaze took in his dark hair at the back of his neck and his wide shoulders in his black T-shirt. He turned and placed a glass on the bar. As she watched him, he laughed at something, and until that moment Maddie hadn’t known what she’d expected of Mick Hennessy, but whatever it had been, this living, breathing man who laughed and smiled hadn’t been it.
Through the dark bar and cigarette haze, his gaze landed on her. She could almost feel it reach across the room and touch her, which she knew was pure illusion. She stood in the darkened entrance and it would be near impossible for him to distinguish her from the crowd. She opened the door and stepped outside into the cool evening air. While she’d been in Mort’s, night had descended on Truly like a heavy black curtain, the only relief a few lit business signs and the occasional streetlamp.
Her black Mercedes was parked across the street in front of Tina’s Mountain Skivvies and the Rock Hound Art Gallery. She waited for a yellow Hummer to pass before she stepped from the curb and walked from beneath the glow of Mort’s neon sign.
A keyless transponder in her purse unlocked the driver’s-side door as she approached, and she opened it and slid inside the cool leather interior. Normally, she wasn’t materialistic. She didn’t care about clothes or shoes. Since no one ever saw her underwear these days, she didn’t care if her bra matched her panties and she didn’t own expensive jewelry. Before purchasing the Mercedes two months ago, Maddie had put over two hundred thousand miles on her Nissan Sentra. She’d needed a new vehicle and had been looking at a Volvo SUV when she’d turned around and locked eyes on the black S600 sedan. The showroom lights had been shining down on the car like a signal from God, and she could have sworn she heard angels singing hallelujahs like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Who was she to ignore a message from the Lord? A few hours after walking into the dealership, she’d driven the car out of the showroom and into the garage of her home down in Boise.
She pressed the start button on the shifter and hit the lights. The CD in her stereo system filled the Mercedes with Warren Zevon’s Excitable Boy. She pulled away from the curb and flipped a U in the middle of Main Street. There was something brilliant and disturbing about Warren Zevon’s lyrics. A little like looking into the mind of someone who stood at the line between crazy and sane and occasionally pushed one toe over. Toying with the line, testing it, then pulling back just before getting sucked into looneyville. In Maddie’s line of work, there weren’t many who pulled back in time.
The Mercedes’ headlights cut through the inky night as she turned left at the only traffic signal in town. The very first car she’d ever owned had been a Volkswagen Rabbit, so battered the seats had been held together with duct tape. She’d come a long way since then. A long way from the Roundup Trailer Court where she’d lived with her mother, and the cramped little house in Boise where she’d been raised by her great-aunt Martha.
Until the day of her retirement, Martha had worked the front counter at Rexall Drug, and they’d lived off her small paycheck and Maddie’s Social Security checks. Money had always been tight, but Martha kept half a dozen cats at any given time. The house had always smelled like Friskies and litter boxes. To this day, Maddie hated cats. Well, maybe not her good friend Lucy’s cat, Mr. Snookums. Snookie was cool. For a cat.
She drove for a mile around the east side of the lake before turning into her driveway lined with thick towering pines and pulling to stop in front of the two-story home she’d bought a few months ago. She didn’t know how long she’d keep the house. One year. Three. Five. She’d bought rather than leased for the investment. Property around Truly was hot, and when or if she sold the place, she stood to make a nice profit.
Maddie cut the Mercedes’ headlights and the darkness pressed in on her. She ignored the apprehension in her chest as she got out of the car and walked up the steps and onto the wraparound porch lit up with numerous sixty-watt bulbs. She wasn’t afraid of anything. Certainly not the dark, but she knew bad things did happen to women who weren’t as aware and as cautious as Maddie. Women who didn’t have a small arsenal of safety devices in their shoulder bags. Things like a Taser, Mace, a personal alarm, and brass knuckles, just to name a few. A girl could never be too careful, especially at night in a town where it was difficult to see your hand in front of your face. In a town set smack-dab in the middle of dense forest where wildlife rustled from trees and underbrush. Where rodents with beady little eyes waited for a girl to go to bed before ransacking the pantry. Maddie had never had to use any of her personal safety devices, but lately she’d been wondering if she was a good enough shot to zap a marauding mouse with her Taser.
Lights burned from within the house as Maddie unlocked the forest-green door, stepped inside, and flipped the deadbolt behind her. Nothing scurried from the corners as she tossed her purse on a red velvet chair by the door. A large fireplace dominated the middle of the big living room and divided it into what was meant to be the dining room but what Maddie used as her office.
On a coffee table in front of the velvet sofa sat Maddie’s research files and an old five-by-seven photograph in a silver frame. She reached for the picture and looked into the face of her mother, at her blond hair, blue eyes, and big smile. It had been taken a few months before Alice Jones had died. A photo of a happy twenty-four-year-old, so vibrant and alive, and like the yellowed photograph in the expensive frame, most of Maddie’s memories had faded too. She recalled bits of this and snatches of that. She had a faint memory of watching her mother put on makeup and brush her hair before leaving for work. She recalled her old blue Samsonite suitcase and moving from place to place. Through the watery prism of twenty-nine years, she had a very faint memory of the last time her mother had packed up their Chevy Maverick and the two-hour drive north to Truly. Moving into their trailer house with orange shag carpet.
The clearest memory Maddie had of her mother was the scent of her skin. She’d smelled like almond lotion. But mostly she recalled the morning her great-aunt had arrived at the Roundup Trailer Court to tell her that her mother was dead.
Maddie set the photo back on the table and moved across the hardwood floor into the kitchen. She grabbed a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator and unscrewed the cap. Martha had always said that Alice was flighty. Flitting like a butterfly from place to place, from man to man, searching for somewhere to belong and looking for love. Finding both for a time before moving on to the next place or newest man.
Maddie drank from the bottle, then replaced the cap. She was nothing like her mother. She knew her place in the world. She was comfortable with who she was, and she certainly didn’t need a man to love her. In fact, she’d never been in love. Not the romantic kind that her good friend Clare wrote about for a living. And not the foolish, mad-for-the-man kind that had ruled and ultimately taken her mother’s life.
No, Maddie had no interest in a man’s love. His body was a different matter, and she did want an occasional boyfriend. A man to come over several times a week to have sex. He didn’t have to be a great conversationalist. Hell, he didn’t even have to take her to dinner. Her ideal man would just take her to bed, then leave. But there were two problems with finding her ideal man. First, any man who just wanted sex from a woman was most likely a jerk. Second, it was difficult to find a willing man who was good in bed rather than who just thought he was good. The chore of sorting through men to find what she wanted had become such a hassle, she’d given up four years ago.